


Solitude

by Siver



Series: Final Fantasy VI/Ghost Trick [5]
Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, FFVI GT AU, Final Fantasy VI AU, Multi, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-08-07 03:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16400759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siver/pseuds/Siver
Summary: Ghost Trick Final Fantasy VI AUThe Floating Continent has fallen. The world slides into ruin. Cabanela and Cidgeon (Pigeon Man) are left alone on a solitary island.





	1. Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a Ghost Trick Final Fantasy 6 AU created with [laughingpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple) and [azurefishnets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurefishnets/pseuds/azurefishnets) that's spun wildly out of our control and loving every minute of it.
> 
> For more read the wonderful [works](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1196335) from [azurefishnets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurefishnets/pseuds/azurefishnets)
> 
> And the beautiful [Per Sempre Ognor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16407494) from [laughingpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple) including a handy spark notes version covering this sprawling au we've created. 
> 
> Pigeon Man named Cidgeon in this verse, taking on a Ciddish role  
> Cabanela slotting into Celes's role (among others)
> 
> Further info in series notes
> 
> Rewritten and expanded.

He made it. They were both here—Alma and Jowd. _Jowd,_ he was here _._ Cabanela was pinned between them in a huddled mass on the airship deck as it shuddered and groaned around them. It was Jowd’s heartbeat in his ear he became aware of first through the overwhelming crash of relief and the waves of pain and tendrils of exhaustion threatening to pull him under.

They made it.

They were here. They… waited for him.

_He almost remained. The Jester was pinned by the statues, so far out of alignment now, he couldn’t imagine the consequences. Magic pulsed through the air, painful, heavy and suffocating._

_He almost remained while his double laughed wildly, his arms raised, sparks crackling around his hands. He spun once with a gleeful giggle as his eyes danced with the light of his own lightning crashing down around them._

_“This power! Isn’t a looovely thing?”_

_He almost remained. Make sure this monster went down. See the cause of all their torments fall with his own eyes._

_He almost remained. The ground shuddered. The cracks and rumbles of pieces splitting away pierced through his awareness. There wasn’t time. Their airship awaited. It had to still be there, safe and intact for them._

_He almost remained. And didn’t. He wouldn’t abandon them again, never again. He wouldn’t be forced apart again._

_He turned and fled with the sound of his own laughter ringing in his ears, twisting his gut, adding to the pain searing through his side. A chill to counter the slowly spreading warmth there._

_He ran as he’d never run before with only one goal in mind. This time he would make it. If they were there… They_ were _there._

_He leapt over gaping holes where ground had already broken away, scrambled around others that he couldn’t make._

_He stumbled and slowed as he tried to catch his balance. His side burned in agony. His muscles ached with exhaustion. He dredged up what energy he could for a cure; more would have to be done later. If there was a later… They had to be gone by now anyway surely? Gone and safe?_

_Something still propelled him forward, slower now, losing against the heavy weights gathering around his limbs._

_Then he saw Them. Jowd and Alma stood a short distance away, holding onto each other as the ground rumbled around them._

_He put on a new surge of speed as he choked back a rising sob. They shouldn’t be here! But they were and he’d never seen a more beautiful and terrifying sight._

_He screamed at them to go as he leapt another gap. He’d catch up. Just let him see them safe, please. That’s all he ever asked for._

_They didn’t. Jowd reached out. Cabanela’s foot slipped as the ground trembled under him and started to sink. A final jump carried him into Jowd’s arms. Two sets of hands pulled him close and they made their last jump as one._

He winced as a fresh wave of magic washed over him, a dancing sort of heat rippling over his skin. Less intense than near the statues, but dangerous, so very dangerous.

He tried to slow his breath to the beat of Jowd’s heart. The sooner they flew from here the better. Get somewhere safe. Together…

A soft thump caught his attention, an alien sound against the roar of the wind and crashing of the strange continent falling apart.

Cabanela pulled his face away to see. Sissel, in human form now, was on his knees, his head in his hands.

“The world,” he groaned. “It’s in so much pain.”

Memry’s shriek cut through the air. “The ship! I can’t control her!”

“The engines!”

Cabanela stared in a distant sort of horror as Kamila ran up from below deck. What was _she_ doing _here_?

“Something’s really wrong with them!”

Cabanela spotted a more imminent danger as the wood groaned and ominous cracks reached his hearing.

He pulled away from Jowd and staggered into a run. Not now—they couldn’t be parted again. It was already happening; the wood buckled and cracks formed.

Cidgeon made a move toward Kamila from his side. Cabanela heard Alma gasp, but neither she nor Cidgeon moved as swiftly.

Kamila’s eyes widened as he swept her up. “Uncle Cabs?! Wait! No, don’t! You’ll—!”

He thrust her back toward Alma. The ship violently shook, knocking Cabanela to the deck. He could only watch helplessly as Alma caught hold of Kamila and the ship cracked apart.

He heard her cry his name and Cidgeon’s. Saw Jowd pull her and Kamila back from the rapidly expanding gulf between them.

Gone. One shining moment was all they got before they were ripped apart again. At least they were together… his precious family was still one for what little time was left. They plummeted fast and fell further and further away from each other. He watched in horror as another piece fell in the distance and prayed no one fell with it.

Cidgeon’s voice was grim as he gripped the rail. “We’re not going to last long.” He nodded toward the opposite side.

A chunk of rail fell away as he spoke. They were losing pieces here too. It was only a matter of time. Cabanela’s attention snapped back to Cidgeon. He was here too. He shouldn’t have been. Kamila shouldn’t have been. They should have stayed in Thamasa in peace and safety. He couldn’t let him fall too…

He dragged himself toward him, trying to gain some stability as his fingers scraped against the wood. His vision blurred; spots danced in front of his eyes. It was so hard to move through the weight pressing him down. Could this be close enough this once?

Cidgeon’s voice sounded sharp in his ears even through the muffled haze descending around him. “Cabanela!” He stretched out a hand, maintaining his grip on the rail with his other.

What was he…?

Cabanela suddenly slid as the section beneath him broke away. He lunged forward a second too late and found only air below him. Reflex and one wild flail let him catch the edge close to Cidgeon. He clung one-handed while the wind rushed past.

Cidgeon lurched toward him and fell to his knees. He braced against the remnants of railing and reached toward him.

“Reach up!”

The sudden force of the question that hit him was nearly enough to knock him away by itself: Why?

They fell. What difference did it make now? He tried to save them repeatedly. Failed as many times. Now everyone plummeted to their deaths. He hurt in more ways than he could count and he was so very, very tired. He briefly locked eyes with Cidgeon. A hard-eyed stare. Pain, nothing but pain. What if he just… Let go.

Cidgeon’s mouth framed something he couldn’t hear as he fell away. The wind buffeted him, cape and scarf whipping around. _He almost remained. Maybe he should have._ He closed his eyes. It was over.

The ocean rose to meet him and his world ended.


	2. Searching

Cidgeon opened his eyes to stare in bafflement at the red tinged sky above before full awareness flooded in. He was awake and to his greater surprise he was alive to be so. At least he could only assume he was alive as it seemed certain that death wouldn’t ache so much.

He cautiously sat up, back throwing its protests in, but willing to otherwise let him get this far. He took stock of himself—all present and accounted for. Present and alone, he quickly realized. No signs of Lovey-Dove and no signs of… Cabanela.

The memory surfaced and he knew it would always remain clear.

 _The tension waiting for Jowd and Alma. The shock when they came with_ him _. He tensed, stepping forward with a spell on his tongue as the man who destroyed his home launched himself at Kamila with a speed that belied the stagger in his step. He saved her, a futile act as the ship broke apart, but the effort was made. His was the face he once knew, if not the expression of urgency and fear._

_Fear and pain when he slipped off and no other act but to try to catch him was conceivable. Another futile hope. He saw the exact moment Cabanela made his decision. The pain and fear drained from his face, softening his features, but leaving his eyes with a terrifying emptiness._

_There was no thought. The words snapped out of him in sudden desperation, harkening back to much older and simpler memories to the boy he raised and the grumbles born of mishaps and absurd antics._

_“Foolish boy!”_

_Too late. There was nothing to be done. Nothing to do but wait for the inevitable landing alone._

Cidgeon sighed. What exactly happened on the floating continent? What led to them coming back with him, even Jowd who had so firmly been ready to end his life? A reversion to his old self? The Empire’s hold broken? Questions and currently impossible answers.

The important matter now was figuring out where he was and what to do next. Sitting around was useless.

It was perhaps a good thing he was so sore. It was a clear sign of life and a reminder that he hadn’t landed in the world of the dead. The air was chill and the red light in the sky he’d initially taken to be sunset or possibly sunrise (how long had he been out?) hadn’t changed. It was silent, deafeningly so; he felt if he spoke his words would only be swallowed immediately.

He spotted the airship remains they’d fallen with not far from where he woke. Had he too slipped off? He must have, but he couldn’t remember which was disconcerting in itself. Everything after Cabanela fell was a blur and a blank.

Once he eased himself up, he made a search of the wreckage. Hope and dread waged war over what he might find as he searched for any telltale signs of blue feathers. He found nothing but shattered wood. Lovey-Dove wasn’t here. The fall wouldn’t hold the same dangers to her and he could only hope she flew to safety.

He stared between the wreck and the still land before him. He hadn’t fallen long after Cabanela. Was it possible? Who could be found? Hope or false hope, his next choice was clear. He made his best guess at their trajectory and set off.

Cidgeon walked on, careful to keep only as fast a pace as he could maintain while keeping his eyes and ears open for any signs of life. He saw no animals and thankfully no monsters. Was there any life to be found here? Were they merely hiding in the aftermath of this disaster—a sensible plan if the opportunity could be taken.

In time he found a hill, more cliff than anything, ahead and made it his next target. A high viewpoint would serve him well, but as he grew closer and prepared to find a path up, the sight ahead took his attention instead. His chest clenched at the shape on the ground and he rushed toward it.

It wasn’t what he feared as he stared down at the crumpled body of an unknown man in the grass, twisted and broken. He glanced up at the cliff above; it didn’t take a genius to work out what happened. There was nothing to do for him and he made a mental note of the place. It was the living who needed his attention now (he could only hope), but he would return.

Nevertheless someone had been here. Were there others? A town perhaps? He quickened his pace, keeping his eyes peeled for a route that would take him up and found it shortly. It was a path and better kept than expected, making for an easier climb than the arduous task he’d worried for.

At the top his surroundings were little better for the view, but informative. He saw no signs of civilization, however this was an island and the ocean’s shore wasn’t far. Someone had been here and the shore lay in his chosen direction. He made his way back down with renewed determination.

As he approached the island’s edge the air took on a salty tang and while there were no signs of a town, he did find a cottage. A small, and as far as he could tell, well-tended garden and a well were near. The place was clearly inhabited and well-looked after. A knock on the door brought nobody and he found it unlocked. He peeked in.

It was a small place, simple but homely enough, containing at a glance, table, desk, bed and hearth. He closed the door again and made note of this place as well. It was shelter, and given what he found, likely no longer used.

He pressed on until he came to the shore. Under better circumstances the sandy beach, rocky in some places, may have been a pleasant sight. In current lighting and through his fears it seemed only dreary and lonesome. Only the tide provided any sound in this still place. The ocean was a cold and dark mass that threatened to suck in his gaze if he didn’t keep his eyes firmly fixed on the shoreline. His heart thudded in his chest. If there was anything to be found and he wasn’t mistaken, this was the most likely place.

He searched until there, a flash of red. He stumbled over sand and pebbles, eyes fixed on the sight ahead. Cabanela’s scarf slipped part way off, being tugged at by the tide. He lay in a graceless sprawl face down, the water lapping over his legs. The only signs of movement came from his scarf and cape, toyed with by the water.

He dropped down beside him and pushed back the worries clamouring for his attention. Only practical actions mattered now. Worry wouldn’t change facts.

Slowly and gently he turned him over and was met with a sight little better. There was a sickly pallor in his face. Blood stained his clothing, mingled with clinging sand. Cidgeon lay a careful hand on his chest and brought his ear down to his face while trying not to think of what would be best to hope for.

There, the faintest trickle of breath against his cheek. Too shallow, too slow, but there. Cidgeon rocked back on his heels. He was… alive. He did survive, stubborn fool. He passed a look over him and found the source of the blood in a ragged tear in his clothing and the far worse gash down his side. It was… odd and he wondered if it had already been partially healed. He started to summon his own magic when he abruptly stopped as a memory of laughter rose unbidden.

He stared at Cabanela and remembered the command to burn it all. The joyful laugh as he slaughtered the Espers for their power. The poison in his words as he slew General Beauty with no signs of remorse. He remembered the man prancing about as he ordered his Shadow to destroy their own troops. Boundless cruelty…

He would die if left alone. His hand drifted to the small knife in his belt. There were any number of ways to hasten that death. It would be a mercy, some would say more than he deserved. Cabanela would loathe what he had become. A mercy… His grip on the knife hilt tightened. He could end this, spare future suffering in a last gift to the boy.

His gaze drifted back to his face. Was it only his current state that lent him such a sickly cast? He seemed thinner than he recalled. Vulnerable… It didn’t fit the Jester. Neither had his actions on the ship, nor the pain in his eyes. The Jester would never let go. Alma’s strained words as they discussed what to do came back to him. Her experiences with him prior to splitting in Vector didn’t match either. They came back with him. It all had to mean something and he released the knife with a slow exhale.

“Damned fool,” he muttered and for once wasn’t entirely certain who the comment was directed at.

He turned his focus back to the most immediately obvious injury and tried to summon forth his magic. A trickle of healing magic washed over him resulting in only the vaguest of improvements. He grimaced. Too weak and too tired for this spell. He briefly wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to set aside his revulsion and made use of the magicite as well.

It was a start; more mundane methods would have to suffice for now until he recovered his strength. He reached for and wrung out Cabanela’s scarf. It would do temporarily—with any luck there would be supplies at the cottage—and he wrapped it around Cabanela’s torso, binding the injury. That done, a check around his neck and arms satisfied him that while there were cuts and bruises, nothing appeared to be broken, and he got his hands under his arms and set to work pulling him all the way out of the water.

“You’re too tall for this,” he muttered.

He laid him back down and made the same check on his legs as best he could for anything obviously severe. A more thorough check would have to be done later in warmth and safety. There was nothing overtly worrying and he rose to his feet with a wince.

He frowned down at Cabanela. He was a mess; there was no denying that. And, there was no knowing just how much worse lay under the surface and what was going on in that head of his. Two images of two faces rose in his mind’s eye. Neither matched the still face before him.

“What am I supposed to do with you?”

As short as it was, this wasn’t going to be an easy trip on either of them. He would have to take this slowly and carefully to avoid causing yet more damage, but there was no choice. A bed waited with warmth and safety if such could be found along with food and possibly medical supplies. There was nothing to be done but to get this over with.

“Idiot,” he grumbled as he started the arduous journey down the beach. “Fool. Expect me to drag your sorry hide around.”

Carefully, carefully and a long detour around the rocks.

“Ever pause to think?” He took the pause, carefully lowering Cabanela’s shoulders back down, so he could stretch out. His own long day was catching up fast, but they still had to finish the beach and get up the path to the cottage.

He stared at Cabanela’s wan face. He should have stopped him from ever agreeing to the infusions. He should have persuaded him to stop submitting himself to Asbolus over and over. He should have put in more effort when Cabanela came to him with worries of small holes in his memory. Dissociation, Asbolus had said, only a mere side effect. It would pass. Yet, despite Cabanela’s worries and dissatisfaction with Asbolus’s answers he’d only waved off Cidgeon’s attempts to dissuade him and he allowed him to. Two years of missing memories according to Alma. Was _that_ only a mere side effect?

He huffed out a breath, took another deeper one, stared at the trails they left in the sand and set back to the long haul.

“You’re damn lucky, boy.”

In being alive at any rate. In everything else? His mouth thinned and he continued with another muttered fool.

“Heavier than you’d think,” he growled as they moved through the path. A weight to bear in more ways than he cared to think on. “You never did make any sense.”

At last they made it. With a shove he opened the cottage door, made another pull and laid Cabanela out on the floor. He glanced around the room. There was a blanket on the bed but that was best saved. A cloak hung by the door and it would have to do. He spread it across the floor and pulled Cabanela onto it.

He got a fire going in the hearth, and searched until he found a supply of bandages and potions. He drank one with a grimace and a wish that he could safely give Cabanela one, and returned outside to the well. He filled the bucket and brought it inside to warm by the fire before turning his attention back on Cabanela.

Practical actions mattered here; anything else had no place and he worked through them methodically with periodic checks on his breathing to tell him he still tended the living and not the dead. Remove soaked, and blood and salt encrusted clothing. Clean and bandage his injuries. As he examined him more closely his eyes caught on scars, older by their appearance and utterly baffling. Of course as a general, Cabanela had grown to be more involved in combat, but he was hard pressed to imagine him allowing such things, certainly not with both magic and his Shadow at his beck and call. Another oddity to add to the list surrounding the man.

Satisfied that he’d done as much as he was able, Cidgeon stared at the bed with a sigh. Last trial. With a final bout of slow and awkward pulling he managed to heave him onto the bed with a second sigh at the dangling sprawl of legs that soon followed—as ever he was difficult in all things. He tucked the blanket around him and hesitated. Cabanela hadn’t stirred at all during his ministrations. Nothing here fit from his stillness to the gaunt face. Cidgeon turned away, nonsensical boy from start to finish.

He pulled the single chair to the fire and sunk into it. He should look around more, he thought. See what they had for food, check the surrounding area, but now that he was settled his limbs refused movement. Clues toward the owner should be sought to see if his suspicions were correct or if they were in for a surprised visitor.

Or worse should Cabanela waken and… Cidgeon shut down that thought. By the look of him it would be hours or more before he woke and likely longer before he was much of a threat. There would be time for warning.

He sunk deeper into the chair and deeper into the growing haze of fatigue despite his reservations. If someone came they would just have to deal with it. He came this far; he wasn’t about to put Cabanela in jeopardy now. Never did like waste…

Cidgeon woke with a groan and stared blearily at the unfamiliar surroundings until the memories of the previous day swarmed in. The potion had helped sustain him through caring for Cabanela, but he felt the day now in every bruise and stiff and aching muscle. There were several things he should do in this new place of theirs. They would have to wait, but one task couldn’t be left.

He slowly pushed himself up and hobbled over to the bed. Cabanela remained exactly as he’d left him. It was expected, even if a small part of him fruitlessly dared to hold onto a small and foolish hope. This was better; he was in no condition to handle him should he wake up violent. He was alive and that was the best state he could truly hope for at this time.

Now that he was upright anyway, he took advantage of it to do a cursory search of the desk and found a thick and worn journal. He took it back to his chair, stoked the fire, sat back with the book and paged through until he found the last entry with a nod. The last page spoke of going to the cliffs apparently for some sort of inspiration. The man otherwise appeared to have lived a solitary if pleasant life.

How quickly things changed, Cidgeon mused. One day seeming like any other turned to disaster. Poor soul, no doubt taken as the world cracked.

He spent the rest of the day alternating between reading the journal, sating both curiosity and the need for knowledge about their surroundings, with dozing and with checks on Cabanela.

The third day was spent making up for the second’s lack. He took stock of their supplies, did his best to tend the garden and gathered some food for the day’s meals.

The evening found him standing by Cabanela’s bed at war with himself. He had enough strength for better healing. Was he ready? How much would it help? Was this really the right thing to do?

Was it ever a choice?

He braced himself and let the magic flow, a soothing breeze briefly washing over them. Removing the bandage revealed it more or less worked though he had another scar to add to his collection. And yet he remained unmoving and showed no signs of waking.

Soon, no doubt. It was a wonder he remained down for this long. He would have to prepare.

As the evening wore on Cabanela remained unconscious and Cidgeon went down to the basement. There was a coil of rope in the corner. He stared at it for several minutes before lifting it and going back upstairs. It was doubtful that it would hold for long, but it would buy him some time if necessary. If not, well it was hardly the first time he had to deal with Cabanela’s temper. He would understand.

Practical actions, he reminded himself as he bound his arms and legs and tried not to think of how frail he felt under his hands.

And still no signs of change.

The fourth day he remained inside only going out to tend the garden and draw water. The rest of the day was spent at Cabanela’s bedside, watching and waiting. A task that ended without result.

The fifth and the days that followed were filled with various chores he could find for himself. With some hesitation about leaving Cabanela, he left to attend the sombre task that still waited. A simple burial, respects paid and gratitude for a safe place given. A plain marker was left.

As the days wore on he removed the ropes, unable to bear the sight of him bound on top of the seeming lifelessness. He would make preparations and when he did wake he would have to deal with whatever happened.

In the meantime there was survival to focus on. He was no tailor by any means, knowing enough to patch holes, but there were sewing needles and thread and he did what he could to make a start on mending their clothing and adjusting that of the former occupant’s. There was the garden to care for, fish to catch and plant life to learn about and gather.

He made several outings to scout out more of the island. Animals made their slow return. Unfortunately monsters also started to make their appearance, stranger and more aggressive than any he’d seen before and he grew more cautious in his wanderings.

The first time he saw a flock of birds pass overhead he stared with a sense of wonder and relief. There was no knowing where they came from, but he took the sight as a good sign. He was only disappointed at the lack of blue feathers.

Days turned to weeks. Cabanela remained as still as ever. He would appear only asleep, but he was unresponsive and showed no signs of waking.

Cidgeon could only do what he could to survive. To live on and wait. When Cabanela woke, he would be here. He would be ready one way or another.


	3. Awakening

**Day 64**

_I’ve delayed too long, but it is complete for what little good I expect it to do should it prove necessary._

_There continues to be no sign of other people. I can’t say how far from the mainland we may be. Other considerations are best left alone until proven otherwise._

_I’ve started gathering materials for a raft. This too may prove futile, but it’s better than doing nothing._

_Cabanela’s condition: unchanged._

**Day 70**

_Work progresses slowly. The former occupant’s tools prove useful. My strength and the increasingly aggressive monsters, however, are a hindrance._

_As it seems there’s little need for rush it’s unlikely to matter._

_Cabanela’s condition: unchanged._

**Day 80**

_Work on the raft is complete and I’ve stored it in the basement. Best to keep it out of the weather._

_Narrowly avoided a fight. The monster was strange, I suspect mutated. I was able to glean little of use from it before retreating._

_Cabanela’s condition: unchanged._

**Day 100**

_Despite my best efforts the garden is growing more difficult to keep alive, following that of the rest of the island. I will continue to supplement our supplies with the surrounding vegetation for as long as it survives. Fish remain plentiful enough._

_Cabanela’s condition: unchanged._

**Day 117**

_Brew test #4: Passable._

_Restocked on fish._

_Worked on a stool._

_Cabanela’s condition: unchanged._

**Day 200**

_See previous day._

_Cabanela’s condition: unchanged._

**Day 246**

_A fine time to fall ill. I’ve reread another of the few books the owner had. While the collection is lacking it will have to do._

_Weather continues to be cold. I miss real tea._

_Cabanela’s condition: unchanged._

**Day 247**

_Feeling worse. Coughing has grown uncontrollable. Couldn’t get up earlier. Weak._

_Cabanela, if you’re reading this, ~~I know you…~~_

_~~You will~~ _

_~~My s--~~ _

_No doubt you’ll find it, but there’s a raft in the basement. This is all I can do now. Go._

**Day ?**

_I’m sorry_ ~~~~

****

**Day 248-249?**

_Damned fever. I’m not sure how long I’ve slept. Going back to bed._

_Cabanela’s condition: unchanged._

**Day 365**

_It’s been a year by my count since we fell. There’s no knowing what the rest of the world is like, or what’s left of it. The island has only declined steadily since that day._

_At least the fish remain along with some edible vegetation. Can’t say much for the taste, but it provides some variety. While I suspect the garden won’t last for much longer, we can hold out for now._

_Cabanela’s condition:_

Cidgeon sighed as his pen dug into the paper. Unchanged. Every day unchanged. It was a force of habit—nothing more, nothing less. He glanced toward the bed.

“You always were one for extremes, weren’t you? Convincing you to get your head down was a task for those who like slamming theirs against a wall. Now look at you.”

He continued to watch as pointless as it was while fighting back the nagging question that lingered since they landed. Was it better this way? The answer was obvious.

Something caught his eye and he stiffened. What was…? He slowly rose, not believing his eyes, but unable to ignore this chance either. Cabanela’s hand had moved, he was certain of it. He cautiously approached the bed. Now that he paid close attention Cabanela seemed the same as ever. Maybe he had imagined it. Maybe he was starting to crack in this place.

 

_He stood in darkness. It was almost time. A faceless crowd spread before him, waiting, and expectation hung heavy in the air. Then a single light shone down._

_The words flowed effortlessly. He wouldn’t be able to stop them even if he wanted to. Not these words, not for them._

_Per sempre ognor._

_One stood out from the crowd, a single light in the darkness. He took a step forward to the edge of the stage, willing him to hear. Willing him to understand._

_Per sempre…_

_He stepped into the ethereal white_ thing _that drew him in and his vision condensed to two small holes. He froze, hand outstretched._

_…ognor…_

_“It really was a lie.”_

_He turned in place, his movements as ever guided by the mask. She stood tall, proud and distant._

_“I should have known.”_

_Would could a puppet say?_

Cidgeon tensed. He hadn’t imagined the twitch in his fingers. Was it time? “Cabanela…”

 

_A hole opened beneath his feet. He was falling, always falling and they were just out of reach. Faces lost beyond a mask. Why reach at all?_

_His sword flashed as he arced down toward that abominable mask. Not this time. He was here for them. He was here._

_Their faces swam above as they fell away. So close and so far away. Always so far._

_He couldn’t breathe. A chill knife pierced his chest. He lost… falling into darkness once more._

Cidgeon sighed and relaxed. Nothing more. Maybe it had been a sign or maybe it was simply an anomaly.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said flatly. And for better or worse it appeared another journal entry would go much the same.

 

_His fingers scraped against wood. A hand outstretched. If he could just reach… did it matter?_

Cidgeon started to turn with a grimace when an odd sound forced him back. A hitch in his breath? The smallest sound in a silence he’d long grown used to—a yell couldn’t be more noticeable.

“If you’re going to come back you may as well get it over with, you ridiculous fool.”

Easy words, but his thoughts raced to the basement. The contraption seemed pathetically fragile now. What would it do to hold him? The rope used may have served just as well on its own with less effort or complication.

And what if… it wasn’t needed? He was holding to a pointless hope that could only lead to disappointment or worse and yet… today was the first time something had happened—that he showed life. Maybe…

“Lateness isn’t like you.”

He should never have left it down there. If there was any chance, he had to haul it up now or find a way to get him down there. He had to do something, but he felt rooted to the ground.

 

_“You’re late. You were supposed to be back yesterday.”_

_The lab used to seem a dull place. Now it seemed as bright and colourful as the world outside._

_“And a good mooooorning to you too!” he sang as he whirled in._

_Lovey-Dove chirped and flew off Cidgeon’s head to his outstretched arm. He beamed at her and twirled around once, smooth as could be. After all to dislodge the good lady was unthinkable._

_“And a very good morning to you, lady bird!”_

_She gave him a soft coo and fluttered off to return to her perch on Cidgeon’s head._

_Cidgeon didn’t look up from his desk._

_“There was a delaaay in departure,” he explained as he waltzed over to a chair by the desk, tossing himself into it._

_Cidgeon only looked up then to give the feet on his desk corner a pointed look._

_Unperturbed, he swung his legs down to stretch them out across the floor comfortably instead._

_“Well I can see it must have otherwise gone well for you to come prancing in here, grinning like an idiot.”_

_“Beauuutifully.”_

They _were beautiful. Brighter than the desert sun, more luminous than the desert flowers._

_They were polite. He was polite. It was all very polite and all he could think was that he couldn’t wait for their next meeting, dull or not. Maybe never dull with them._

_She smiled at him and he longed for the day when it would hold less pain. Her touch was gentle as she adjusted a bow. He would bring their smiles back. A promise made in song._

_This wasn’t like him. He had to keep his attention on the proceedings yet it seemed a task easier said than done when his gaze was repeatedly and inexorably drawn to the prince and princess._

_He was overshadowed in that cell, but he was there. He made it, he made it. Just a few more steps and… he caught the look of surprise as his world vanished into darkness._

_The first time he caught them sparring he could only watch in silent appreciation. They moved around each other with an ease that was fascinating. He knew he was outmatched in every way._

_His laugh rolled, filling the room with warmth. Her hand covered her mouth as she struggled and failed to contain herself. He took a sip of wine, revelling in the sound and being glad that for this moment it was only the three of them. The scandalized looks of other nobles had no place here._

_“They were magnificent,” he said dreamily._

_“They?” Cidgeon asked._

_“The prince.” So much more than he expected. “And Doma’s princess. They’re to be wed.” And what a display that would be in time. A kiiing, a queeen._

_Cidgeon eyed him. “Hmph, don’t forget why you’re there.”_

_“Yeees,_ dad _.” As if he could forget when his duties would bring him back to them. It wouldn’t be long either._

_“Bah, away with you boy.”_

 

He had to move. This _was_ different. Something in Cabanela’s breathing changed, growing stronger. He couldn’t afford hope. He had to be ready. He felt sick as he gathered the magic to send him back to sleep. Temporary. It would only be temporary, enough to buy him time if he needed it. Maybe… maybe…

 

_Away. He was away too long. There they were, standing together, shining bright against the ground falling away around them. He leapt._

_Arms he hadn’t felt for so very long wrapped around him and drew him in. Jowd and Alma. They were here, they were here; he made it. Nothing else mattered._

_He fell._

_A hand outreached. His face above._

Cidgeon watched, frozen, not daring to do anything that might disturb whatever was happening now. Was it time? Who would wake? _What_ would wake? He was sure he saw his eyes move under his lids. Then Cabanela’s mouth opened. A softly spoken word, barely audible and Cidgeon could barely register it through his shock.

“Dad…”

Cidgeon stared. That was the last word he ever expected to hear from him now. After the last time they met personally, it seemed an impossibility. After Thamasa it was an impossibility. And before that…

_A derisive snort. “Ain’t your dad and may we all give thanks for that.”_

_Cabanela had only laughed before leaving with a merry wave. “I’ll be back soooon, professor!”_

His heart pounded. What did it mean? Would the Cabanela he once knew waken? Was it nothing more than an old piece of flotsam to disappear as soon as he woke fully? Never had he felt so relieved for the word or terrified of what was still to come.

What could he do?

What did he dare do?

 

He was heavy, weighed down, a pressing weight pinning him to, to… something soft below. He was… where was he? The weight settled into his eyelids as he struggled to open them. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he was still asleep. Sleep a little longer…

But that wasn’t… right.

He took a slow breath, tried and failed to remember how his mouth worked. Someone spoke nearby.

“Cabanela…”

That was him. With what felt like a monumental effort he managed to drag his eyes open enough to squint. There was a blurry blank expanse above. It made no sense. He blinked, long and slow, and again to clear his vision. Ceiling?

The voice sounded again, gruff and familiar.

“Finally decided to wake, did you boy?”

Boy… Finally? Turning his head took a little less effort and he stared muzzily at the sight. Right, he knew how to do this…

“Professor…?” What was he doing here? Where was here?

Then it hit all at once. The airship cracking and falling apart around them. The deck going out beneath him. Cidgeon reaching out. And…

No. No, no, no.

He tried to sit, but the weight redistributed itself across his limbs and he could hardly move. His head dropped back into the pillow.

“The others?” he croaked.

Cidgeon was here. _He_ was here… despite… he swallowed. Surely the others had to be. If _he_ made it, how could they not?

Cidgeon had taken a step back. Something about him seemed off, but Cabanela couldn’t place what.

“Take it easy,” Cidgeon said sharply.

Take it _easy_? Cabanela struggled again to sit up, if he could just get his arms under him… that part should be the easy thing here; why wasn’t this working?

Cidgeon’s voice remained sharp, almost fearful. “That’s enough.”

He slumped again. “The others? What happened?”

Cidgeon’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and his poise… It hit him then. He was on guard. He didn’t know. He didn’t trust him either.

The word slipped quietly. “Please.”

Cidgeon blinked. Something of his expression softened. “I don’t know. We’re alone here.”

“Where aaare we?”

Cidgeon sighed and his shoulders slumped—the defensiveness faded to a tired sag though his eyes remained watchful. “An island. There’s no point bandying words. You’ve been in a coma for the past year.”

Cabanela stared at him uncomprehendingly. That couldn’t be right. He couldn’t have. He couldn’t have left them for so long. Not again.

_“Five years. Five years you’ve left me with nothing but lies!”_

_Lynne’s nervous stare. “Five, you left five years ago.”_

_Five… Not three._

_Another year…_

Cidgeon’s voice regained some of its sharpness. “What do you last remember?”

Cabanela shuddered. A missing year. But a coma, not the slave crown, not that. “The airship,” he said weakly. They were so close. He was so close.

He struggled again and this time managed to get his elbows under him and pushed himself up against the pillow. It wasn’t much progress, but he tried to fix Cidgeon with a stare. Will him to understand, to believe him. “Whatever you think I did, it wasn’t me. I—”

“What happened?”

He could almost laugh. To say it, it sounded absurd. He fought to keep the tremor from his voice. “They made another. The Emperor, Asbolus, they made a copy of… me.”

Cidgeon’s eyes widened briefly before narrowing. He waited silently and Cabanela plunged on. He spoke of his attempt to save Jowd and his capture, the slave crown, and his second failed attempt. He glossed over his imprisonment and torture and only hesitated when Cidgeon opened his mouth as if to say something. But then he only shook his head with a tight expression and told him to go on. He briefly spoke on his journey with Alma. His confrontation with the Jester and his investigations in Vector when he found the whole truth. The infusions—it all started then and he’d had no idea. He spoke of chasing Sith to the Sealed Gate and the rise of the Floating Continent. He lost track of Sith, but found his way back. He confronted the Jester again while the others fled. He faltered as he remembered the Goddess Statues and the magic and the Jester’s glee. How much damage was caused? How much did he help in his efforts to delay him?

“And then you fled,” Cidgeon supplied softly when Cabanela fell silent. “You rejoined Jowd and Alma.”

“Yes…” He dropped his gaze. “Everything he did in my name… with my face…’

“Primus,” Cidgeon murmured.

Cabanela snapped his head up at that. Cidgeon’s face was pained.

“You _knew?_ ”

Cidgeon shook his head and his voice was laced with a bitterness Cabanela had never heard from him before. “I discovered the labels. I knew nothing.” His mouth twisted and he abruptly turned away. “We should get some food in you.”

“Prof…”

Cidgeon left the room and Cabanela slumped. Food was the last thing on his mind. What had Cidgeon found? He believed him… Didn’t seem to doubt his story for a second. What had he thought?

He let his eyes wander the room. Small and simple—a desk and stool. A chair rested in front of a hearth. Had they really been here for a year? In some ways it felt as if everything had just happened while in others it felt as though he could only see it all through fogged glass. A year… What happened to everybody? Where were they now?

What of the Jester? Did he survive as well? It would be nice to think he was gone, but the pit in his stomach told him otherwise. No, he didn’t just have a feeling he was still out there, he knew he was out there, just as he was here.

He dragged a heavy hand up and over his face. One point remained clear through the mud. They survived. It was unthinkable that the others hadn’t. The path was clear. They had to find a way off this island and find them. Simple. Logical.

Slowly, too slowly and with far more effort than he could have imagined he inched himself further up the headboard. His arms gave out and he slumped back, but he was more upright. It was a start.

Cidgeon re-entered, bearing a mug and brought it to Cabanela.

“Fish soup,” he supplied as he passed the mug to him.

It was only half full, but the reason became clear when Cabanela grasped it in shaking hands, sending the liquid sloshing around. He gave the watery liquid a look of distaste. The thought of any food was unappetizing; this wasn’t doing anything to help matters. The mug knocked against his teeth and he froze as Cidgeon’s hand landed on his, steadying. Cabanela gave him a questioning look, but his expression was unreadable and he only released him once he took a sip and lowered the mug. The soup wasn’t any better than it looked, but the professor’s startling behaviour was more important now.

“You’ll have to get used to fish while we’re here,” Cidgeon said. “There aren’t a lot of options.”

Cabanela shot him a look. “What do you meaaan?”

“Hmph, well you’ll find out soon enough anyway. The world changed that day. Ever since it’s been declining. The weather has become extreme, the sun never seems to quite rise.”

Cabanela glanced toward the window, but from his angle he could only see darkened sky.

“It’s evening now,” Cidgeon said, “but you’ll see tomorrow. Plants wither and the monsters have changed. Whether things continue to grow worse is anyone’s guess.”

“When the statues went out of alignment…”

“Threw the whole world off balance.”

Bad news after bad. He stared at the increasingly unappealing soup then back at Cidgeon where an absence continued to make itself known. She never strayed far from him. He drank more of the soup in an effort to delay yet more bad news then took a slow breath.

“Lovey-Dove?”

Cidgeon grimaced. “We lost each other in the fall. I haven’t seen her since, but she’s a tough old girl.”

Cabanela gripped the mug tighter. “She’s out there. They all have to be out there. We’ll fiiind them, everyone.”

“Luckily for you I had plenty of time and was able to build a raft. It’s not much, but it’s what we’ve got.”

Cabanela tried to straighten. “Then we can leave!”

“When you’ve recovered.”

“I can’t do nothing.” Not again. No more. “Sitting around heeere or out there what’s the difference? We can start makin’ progress.”

Cidgeon treated him to a flat stare. ”Don’t be daft. You’re lucky you’re alive, _boy_. Let’s keep it that way.”

Cabanela winced. ‘Boy’ again—he knew he was treading the thin lines of the professor’s patience, but, “I can’t lose more time.”

“You’ll lose a lot more time if you’re dead,” Cidgeon replied drily. “We go when you’ve regained your strength.”

Cabanela scowled into his mug. And not before; his tone made that clear. He would just have to recover quickly. He forced himself to finish the last of the soup before Cidgeon wordlessly took the mug.

As the evening deepened Cidgeon insisted that Cabanela sleep. He was tired which seemed distinctly unfair in his opinion. He’d been out for a year, how could he possibly still be tired? Cidgeon only ignored his protests and left him to go to bed himself with a last order to get his head down.

Darkness sunk in. Tomorrow he would see what had become of their world. They couldn’t leave yet, but there ought to be something they could do in preparation. If tomorrow came… he stiffened at the sudden thought. Who was to say he wouldn’t wake up another year from now? Two? Five?

He snapped his fingers and a spark danced off the tip, a single tiny light. He stared at it until it died with a feeble flicker and his hand dropped. Too tired to even maintain that much. He had to get his strength for magic back too. Be ready…

His fears must have lost to his body because he found himself waking to a dimly lit room. He immediately turned his head and saw Cidgeon at the desk. Cidgeon glanced up and Cabanela was certain he didn’t mistake the relief that passed through his features, but the ‘good morning’ was as short as ever. A good sign, something normal and clearly no more than the night had passed.

He glanced toward the window and saw red tinged clouds. “What tiiime is it?”

“It’s hard to be sure these days,” Cidgeon said. “Morning at any rate. You won’t see much change from that, except when it rains or storms and that’s rare.”

“I seee.” He had warned him; what was the rest like?

He pushed himself up and found it easier though his legs still felt wooden. A walk would help that, something that wasn’t being trapped in bed. With some slow maneuvering he was able to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. After several false starts, attempts to find his legs, and a great deal of clinging to the headboard he managed to regain his feet, if half-leaning and half-clinging to the wall could be counted as standing.

Cidgeon looked unimpressed. “Are you satisfied now? Sit down.”

“No.”

Not here. The chair by the hearth was tantalizingly close. It would be a start and he could move on from there, maybe after a short break.  

And yet the intervening gap of floor looked far more daunting than the short length had any right to. He slowly released the headboard, ignored the warning tremble in his legs, took a step and the ground went out from under him. He clenched his fists against the floor.

There was a sigh and the scrape of wood on wood. When he looked up Cidgeon stood over him.

“Are you finished?”

He made no response to the glare Cabanela threw at him and helped him back up to sit on the side of the bed.

“Stay put. I’ll get breakfast.”

After Cidgeon left Cabanela rubbed a hand over his thighs with a murmured cure and felt nothing. Nothing for weakness or feeling stiffer than Jowd at his first banquet as king. He flinched back from the unbidden memory, his throat tightening. He would see them again. They would talk again and sit together, content to just be in one another’s presence. They would have long talks and long rides. He would sing for them both once more. Their warmth, he’d felt it again so briefly. So precious and torn from it. How could it be a year ago? Where were they now?

Cidgeon came in. Cabanela tried to focus instead on the plate he bore containing more fish and a small amount of some sort of greens. As he settled into the meal, Cidgeon set a pair of books near.

“I have some work to do in the basement,” he said. “Try to keep yourself occupied.”

Cabanela ate as much as he could get down before setting the plate aside. He eyed the books, picked one at random and leafed through before promptly switching to the other. And so the day crawled on, alternating between attempted focus on the books, staring at the sky and alternating sitting and sprawling across the bed. The occasional muffled thump sounded from the basement, but Cidgeon said nothing when he came back up to check on him.

The last time Cidgeon came up for the day he carried two long and sturdy looking sticks. He stopped in front of Cabanela with a small snort.

“They’re not ideal, but they should give you some stability.” He held them out. “Here, I want to check the length.”

Cabanela immediately set aside the book he’d been attempting to give his attention yet again. “You gooot it, prof.”

He grasped the sticks and edged himself off the bed, coming to a shaky stand. Cidgeon eyed him up and down.

“Hmph as good as we’ll get, I suppose. I—what are you doing?” he cut off as Cabanela took a cautious step forward, eyes fixed on the door.

“I want to see ouuutside.” See the damage and take a break from the four walls.

Cidgeon’s mouth thinned as he stared at him. Then he shook his head and stepped closer. “Fine, if you can make it.”

It was slow-going for such a short distance. His legs felt like jelly, but the crutches helped. When he finally reached the door, Cidgeon opened it for him and he leaned against the door frame to catch his breath. This was ridiculous—he was better than this—and yet it was all still somehow better than the sight before him.

He didn’t know what he expected, but he couldn’t say it was this despite the warning. The ground was dry and cracked with only tufts of brown grass. The sky was red tinged as ever and it felt as though the colour had been partially drained from the world, leaving the surroundings drab and dreary. There was a quiet stillness that held nothing peaceful and only an unsettling sense of the world’s wrongness. The professor said the island had been declining. It seemed to him it already had. What had he done?

“Does that go to the beach?” Cabanela asked as his eyes landed on a path leading into a small patch of bare trees.

“Yeah,” Cidgeon replied. “And you can go another day,” he added pointedly.

Cabanela grimaced and backed up into the room as Cidgeon closed the door. That day would come soon.

The next few days passed in a frustrating tedium. Cabanela slowly regained more of his strength, able to go a little longer and a little farther each passing day. And yet even as he grew stronger he found himself falling under a cloud of gloom. Staying inside, he felt too restless and retreated outdoors, only for an odd listlessness to settle over him instead and send him back inside. Inside or out there was little to take his attention off the past or future and both served as a constant reminder of both the damage done and his weakened state. If they could only leave, but Cidgeon hadn’t been fooled by his efforts to cover his exhaustion the simple walk to the beach and back brought him. He insisted on waiting as if they hadn’t spent too long in this accursed place already.  

Another day in what felt like an unending chain of monotony found Cabanela sitting at the top of the cliffs, wondering if the effort to make it up had been worth it while he tried to alleviate the ache it brought. The sight around him wasn’t much better for the higher view. The ocean looked endless and no matter how he much he willed it there was nothing to see beyond the horizon. Nothing but a dark and cold mass under a leaden sky.

They were out there. They had to be.

And so was _he._ The bitterness swelled, threatening to choke him. He lost to him. Repeatedly. He gave in for a future victory and lost everything. His puppet, his shadow, his mindless slave. He was worse than useless, a weapon. So much destruction rested on his shoulders.

And then he was granted a few scant months.

A small bolt of lightning flashed from his hand and lashed harmlessly against rock. For what? What had he accomplished? He came ever too late and his family was torn apart again. Regardless of what happened to him that was unacceptable.

Now he and Cidgeon were trapped here because of him. The professor could have left months ago. He could have left with a better chance for survival. His hands clenched. Instead he waited for him, waited unknowing for one who could have killed him. His distrust had been plain as the rest and he couldn’t blame any of them.

He kept him here to suffer and how would that change? Two on a raft with dwindling supplies?  They prepared for a journey that could easily end at the bottom of the ocean. If they did somehow find land what then? He started this mess and his efforts only made things worse for them all. Who was to say he’d even make it with this wreck of a body that did nothing but hold the professor back?

Was that it? Was there a last gamble? A way to buy him a better chance? It hadn’t been so bad the first time. He couldn’t remember hitting the water. There wouldn’t be anyone to remember it…

_“Finally decided to wake, did you boy?”_

He shivered and took a sharp breath. Nothing was right, none of this was right.

A wind blew and as rain droplets began to fall his thoughts fell away with them into a single question that left him paralyzed on the ground.

Why?


	4. Understanding

Cidgeon stilled his fingers on the desk and his glance went again to the window. It was growing darker and by the building clouds he saw earlier they were in for quite a storm. It had been weeks since the last rainfall. He wished this could feel like a good thing.

Where was Cabanela?

Not a welcoming thought—he’d been trying to keep his mind off the boy for now, easier said than done.  His moods grew steadily more unpredictable, swinging wildly between painfully forced cheer that wouldn’t fool a daft duck, fits of temper and sullen bouts best left untouched.

He was recovering physically, and now Cidgeon wondered if he kept them here too long. Was it prudence or only too much fear of pushing too hard too soon? He’d feared for Cabanela’s mental state before and had it all wrong. Now he did once more in entirely different ways. He was cracking; this island wasn’t doing him any favours.

A light rain pattered against the window. Cidgeon’s frown deepened. It would only get worse. Where was he? He was doing better yes, down to a cane and could get by for short stretches without it, but whether he liked it or not he wasn’t stable yet.

As expected rain soon poured down in sheets, loud against the cottage. Cidgeon abruptly rose, knocking the stool back. He should have known to come back at the first sign of rain. He’d _warned_ the fool how fast the weather could go once it started. But what if he was unable…?

He fetched down a cloak for what protection it would give and hurried out the door. He squinted through the pounding rain. Where would he have gone? He’d been asking about the cliffs, but while the path had once been easier than expected it was growing worse as time passed; between it and the monsters it would be too needlessly risky yet. He wouldn’t, would he?

Cidgeon sighed and hurried in that direction, wind buffeting him and feet slipping where dry dirt turned to mud.

The rain wasn’t doing the path any favours. Cidgeon stopped part way up to shake some of the water away from his hood. It was a losing battle; he was already soaked. He wondered if this was a mistake. Cabanela could have gone down to the beach. This could all be a wasted effort resulting in a bunch of wasted time, but gut feeling born of too many years of experience drove him onward.

He pressed on, both trying to see ahead of him and shield his face from the rain—a losing battle on both fronts—until he made it to the top. He sighed again, unsure if he was glad to be right or wrong.

Cabanela sat near the edge, back straight and still. He could appear statuesque or other such poetic nonsense, but Cidgeon  saw drenched and bedraggled, hair plastered down and water running in rivulets down his clothing. He squelched over to his side and shook his head sending a shower of drops around them.

“You’re a damn fool.”

Cidgeon frowned at him. He appeared uninjured, but Cabanela didn’t seem to hear him, only looking toward the ocean with a blank stare.

“Come on. Get inside.”

Cabanela’s voice came from a long way off. “Why?”

“What are you on about?”

Cabanela fell silent as if even the one small word had never been spoken. Cidgeon glanced around and spotted his cane. He bent, snorting as water dripped down onto his nose and threatened to run into his eyes. He held the cane out to Cabanela in hopes of prompting him to move. Cabanela stared at it for a moment, face still blank, but to Cidgeon’s surprise he reached out mechanically to take it and pulled himself up. He cast a look back at the ocean.

“I’d rather not find out if it’s possible to get wetter,” Cidgeon prompted. He felt soaked all the way through and Cabanela looked as if he’d taken a swim.

Cabanela allowed himself to be guided to the path and Cidgeon kept close to him as they navigated their way down. Watchful eyes weren’t enough for the poor visibility, amount of mud and unsteady feet. Cabanela slipped with a sudden hiss of breath. His cane fell and Cidgeon caught his arm before he followed suit. Cabanela’s face twisted in anger and, as he shot a dark look at Cidgeon, something else difficult to tell through the sopping hair over his eyes; was it pained?

Once Cabanela found his feet he pulled away from Cidgeon and fetched the fallen cane himself with a look of disgust at the mud. It was all a silent exchange but his frustration was tangible. It would be a relief to get back inside out of this muck, and where he could retreat to the basement if Cabanela became too much.

The rest of the walk continued, wet and grumpy, until at last they made it. Cidgeon opened the door first, herding Cabanela inside and they stood, streaming water while the rain continued to pound away at the cottage.

“Get changed into something dry,” Cidgeon said and left to do the same.

When he returned Cabanela was slumped, shivering in the chair by the fire. Some of his anger had faded, but his expression remained tight. Cidgeon set a kettle of water over the fire and straightened as Cabanela spoke, his voice oddly flat.

“You didn’t know. Why did you stay?”

Cidgeon moved over to fetch two mugs. “I wasn’t going to leave you, was I?” He eyed the jar containing the remains of the herbs and plants in the most tolerable combination he could find. They were nearly out and he’d been struggling to find more lately. With any luck they wouldn’t be here for much longer now, and this called for a hot drink.

Cabanela’s voice suddenly lashed over him. “It could have been _him._ I could have been him all along! I—he could have killed you! After everything he did! What were you thinking?”

“It was a risk I was willing to take,” Cidgeon replied calmly.

“You should have left! You could have found the mainland. You could have found them. You could have been safe and not been trapped here with…” He took a shuddering breath. Cidgeon shot him a look at the next word. Was that a plea in his tone? _Him?_

“Why?”

Cidgeon returned to the fire to check on the water. “You trust Jowd and Alma, don’t you?”

“With my life.”

“They came back with you. I saw what you did on the airship. You’re not the only hopeful fool here.”

When Cidgeon turned—the water was nearly ready—Cabanela looked stricken. It wasn’t a look he saw for long. Long arms suddenly shot out and Cidgeon found himself drawn in. Cabanela’s head bowed over his shoulder as he clung to him.

After a frozen moment, Cidgeon dropped a hand to rest at his back. He glanced down at his head. His hair was still damp, but he could pick out the grey easily enough—too easily—the clearest sign of the passing years and their burden. He found his thoughts going much further back to an early memory.

_The boy sitting in an unusual bout of quiet on a stool while he worked. He kicked his feet back and forth between the stool legs—quiet yes, but never still that one. It was when Cidgeon passed by the stool to fetch a file that he felt the tug on his sleeve._

_The boy slid off the stool and before Cidgeon knew what was happening, he had his arms around him and his face buried in his torso. Cidgeon stared down at the brown hair that was all he could make out of him now. Baffling in all honesty. What was he to do with him? He still questioned how he wound up with the boy and wondered whether he’d taken temporary leave of his senses when he took him in. What did he know of children?_

_He awkwardly patted his back and waited to be released._

The reasons this time were far more explicable. This was a rare act, and he found himself swallowing, one that so easily could have never happened again.

The feel of the knife hilt in his hand was a memory that would never leave him. How many times over the year had he questioned his decision? Cabanela feared for his safety, but it was Cabanela who had been at his mercy. He’d come so terribly close…

He settled his arms more firmly around him. He was alive. He was in pain, but he was the boy he knew and not that monster, never was.

Cabanela drew a long slow breath and pulled back. It was hard to glean much from his expression—tired, a bit distant—another swing in his moods.

The water was most certainly done now and Cidgeon returned to the task, bringing the kettle over to the mugs.

“Dad?” The word was quiet, and coming from him, strangely hesitant.

Cidgeon stiffened, but couldn’t turn.

“Thank you,” Cabanela said quietly.

‘Thank you’. It hardly seemed warranted. It had all been in front of him under his very nose: Primus, he saw him; he’d been right there, in an act Cidgeon would never speak of to Cabanela and prayed he’d never know of. He’d unknowingly given him up to be executed. Tortured… used… Hoped for a swift death for him. “… _one in the eye to that old fool.”_ Old fool indeed.

“Hmph.”

“You stayed…”

“You know I don’t like waste.”

Cabanela let out a short laugh. “And you call meee the fool.”

“Yeah, well sometimes even a fool has the right of it,” he said, turning with a pointed look at Cabanela and brought him one of the mugs.

Cabanela cupped it close. “It’s not ooonly that. You kept Kamila safe. You saved Jowd. I’ve… made a lot of mistakes.”

Cidgeon eyed his ‘tea’. He wasn’t the only one. “You know what to do. We fix what we can.”

“Never again.” Cabanela took a sip then stared at him, eyes piercing. “We will find them. We will stop him.” His mouth twitched. “And maybe we can fix this wooorld of ours too.”

Cidgeon nodded. That was better. Those were the words of the man who fought for years. Who, he thought with a fond inward snort, set his eyes on a goal no matter how outrageous and succeeded—the king and queen indeed. There was still a tired weight in him, but something of the spark was there and he could only hope it wouldn’t die out again.

“We’ll leave soon,” Cidgeon said.

“Soooon.”


	5. Hope

Cabanela jerked awake, sitting bolt upright. He was unbound, unrestrained. His legs were his own. Visions of a mask faded from his vision even while fears he couldn’t place pounded through him. He snapped his fingers twice rapidly, grounding himself in the feel of his own hand and the sound, and now the small flame that danced over his palm, casting a small warm glow around him.

His gaze drifted over the bed and the darks shapes of the chair and desk. They wouldn’t be here for much longer. They agreed. This very morning the professor told him to come with him and he’d guided him down to the basement where the raft rested.

“It’s not much,” he’d said.

It was everything. It would work; it had to.

A pile of broken up wood in the corner caught his attention—“Rubbish,” the professor said shortly—and while Cabanela was certain there was more to it than that he kept his peace. He had a feeling there were several things on the professor’s mind. Maybe it was better that way and if he wanted to speak he would. There were things he’d rather the professor not know as well. It was… better that way.

Cabanela shifted to the side of his bed closer to the window. It was too dark to make out much of anything, but if he focused he thought he could just see the faintest scattered pinpricks of stars. He missed them.

He abruptly rose, took a moment to orient himself and went to the door. The air outside held a biting chill. He ignored it to stare upward, searching, searching.

“What are you doing?” the professor’s voice came from behind.

“They’re still there,” Cabanela said. He squinted. He thought he saw the edges of the tail and if he was right it would be in that direction. It had been so much easier to see back then under a blanket of stars while the desert spread around them, and their voices washed over him.

“Theeere. Some things haven’t changed. Loook, part of the Phoenix.”

The professor stepped up beside him, arms folded over his chest and he stared up. “Hmph, I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“They were all so clear from Figaro. You should have seen them, prof. The whooole sky sparkled. We’ll see them again. I’ll show you.”

Figaro was still there. Jowd and Alma and Kamila. Lynne and Missile. They would all come back. He shivered. The desert grew cold at night, but this was sharper, crueler somehow.

“Come on,” Cidgeon said firmly. “It’s freezing and you need sleep.”

Cabanela traced over those few stars once more before turning and following Cidgeon inside. Cidgeon waited until he slipped back into bed and only then did Cabanela hear his footsteps leaving. He turned his head toward the window. He couldn’t see the constellation from here, but it was there and he closed his eyes, the night’s fears drained away.

 

Morning dawned grey. They shared a bland breakfast of fish and said little. Despite the night’s hopeful sight somehow the cottage seemed smaller and gloomier than ever and after fidgeting in place for a bit, Cabanela left to go outside.

With no real aim in mind beyond getting away and stretching his legs, he let his feet guide him. It was almost time. It had to be; he was doing better, the professor had to see that and he found himself going to the beach, eyes ticking off problem spots they might encounter while bringing the raft down.

The ocean was a low roar and he kept his gaze on the shore and away from the seemingly endless waters. Here, they could launch. And then… and then what? How long of a journey would it take?

He pressed on along the shore, his thoughts dwindling to a sort of a buzz. How long… The island’s sights always seemed to suck at his thoughts turning them as dull as his surroundings. How long…

He came to an abrupt stop, blinking at the interruption in the drab environment. There was a flash of blue among the rocks, a vibrancy that seemed false and dreamlike here.

Breath catching, he hurried forward, pace quickening as he grew closer. After all this time, could it be?

“Lovey-Dove!”

He dropped down next to the pigeon. Everything about her seemed to droop, but there was no mistaking her. He’d know her anywhere and he laughed at the familiarity.

“Looook at you, you’re alive! I couldn’t be happier to see youuu, ladybird.”

She gave him a weary sort of coo and stuck out her leg where a large piece of pink cloth was attached—by all rights too large for the small pigeon, but she was no ordinary bird. Cabanela reached out to take it, eyes widening.

This cloth, these paint stains. He saw it only once and far too briefly, but everything in that last moment was embedded in his memory. There was little to see in that dim cell but…

“Jowd,” he breathed. “Lovey-Dove, you wooonderful gift. Where did you get this?”

“Coo.”

“This is everything. Come on.” He carefully gathered her into his arms, tucking her close to his chest. “I knooow someone else who will be thrilled to see you too.”

 

Cidgeon’s head snapped up as Cabanela burst through the door.

“Professor!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ha! Nothing wrooong at all. Look who I found!”

He felt Lovey Dove’s wings twitch and he shifted, loosening his hold and giving her more room to maneuver. He barely had time to do that much before she launched herself off his arm with a loud chirp. She flew straight for Cidgeon’s head and settled comfortably into her customary perch.

Cidgeon’s eyes widened and his mouth twitched into an unmistakeable smile, the first real smile Cabanela felt he saw since he woke.

“Lovey-Dove!” Cidgeon reached up to gently pat her head. “There you are, my girl.”

She was the best of gifts indeed.

“And look what eeelse she brought us,” Cabanela said, holding out the cloth. “Jowd. Prof, he’s out there. We have to get movin’.”

Cidgeon eyed him critically. “Are you sure you’re up to this? You have to know this won’t be an easy journey one way or another.”

Cabanela gripped the cloth. “We can’t fail now. I knooow we’ll make it.”

There was a long silence in which he knew Cidgeon was sizing him up. He shifted his weight, thoughts jumping to the basement. If they started preparations now… why stand around here all day? He opened his mouth to say as much when Cidgeon nodded.

“We’ll start making the final preparations,” he said. “We’ll need to gather as much food and fresh water as we’re able to carry.”

Cabanela beamed. “You gooot it!”

 

The day they left seemed no different from any other, yet as they hefted and dragged the raft down to the beach, Cidgeon’s grumbles mingling with snatches of Cabanela’s humming, Cabanela fancied the sun a bit brighter and the air a bit easier to breathe. Even the beach somehow seemed friendlier.

He stared out at the ocean, soon their way back, while he listened to Cidgeon list off what he still needed him to do. His fingers wrapped tightly around the cloth.

_Wherever you are, you keep holdin’ on. We’re coming._

It was time.


End file.
